tampered | I'm the Avatar, and you gotta deal with it!

[The question comes out like he knows her, which only unsettles Korra more. His voice is rough and cold, nothing like Amon's, and yet the difference doesn't reassure her at all. Everything about him screams danger.]

Who are you?

[ Under his mask, Hei wets his lips, tasting sweat and blood -- not that it matters. Korra is practically simmering with hostility, eyes aglow, the air vibrating around her. Yet she takes him in as if he's a stranger. Who are you? That one question slides everything into place, like beads slipping on a string. ]

[ She's cursed. ]

[ Instead of dignifying her with a response -- What difference does it make? She'll remember again once the weekend's over -- he moves to go. It's a decision that seems both offhand and disinterested, but is mostly just churlish. He's been avoiding her for awhile, because it's hard to look at her, because her face is full of things he doesn't want to recall -- the errors upon errors, all coming back to him in an inventory of ambivalence and attraction and dismay, ultimately so jumbled up he can't clear them up and lock them away. ]

[ So he does what comes naturally. Retreat. ]

Hey, I asked you a question!

[Just because a part of her had been contemplating flight doesn't mean he gets to. How does he know her? Why is he wearing a mask?

She slams her foot on the ground, calling up a wall of earth to block his path.]

[ Hei freezes at the obstruction of jutting earth. His retreat doesn't look like a retreat; more a casual realignment of balance, a shift of muscles. But inside, frustration boils. He very pointedly does not want to get into a discussion with her, much less an altercation. He's exhausted, disoriented and in pain. But almost all his life is spent in such a state. That's not the reason for his skittishness. ]

[ It's just bad timing. It isn't Korra's fault, and also no excuse. ]

I don't want to get into this right now. [ His voice echoes back to him, robotic. ] It'll make sense to you tomorrow. [ Then, in a different tone, almost a snap, ] But right now, you shouldn't be here.

[It'll make sense when the weekend is over. People keep telling her that, but Korra finds that hard to believe. And she's certainly not going to wait for it. Patience still isn't one of her virtues.]

What do you mean, I shouldn't be here? Who are you?!

[She earthbends again, knocking the ground out from beneath his feet. The idea that he might fall on his injured arm doesn't occur to her; or, if it does, she simply doesn't care. She wants answers, and she'll do whatever it takes to get them.]

[ Practice doesn't make perfect; it just makes it ingrained. Or rather, it makes everything permanent. Under duress, under adrenaline, under agony -- Hei is programmed to carry his full freight. To flip the script on any attacker. ]

[ The earth rumbles and cracks beneath his feet. For a split-second, he's almost unbalanced, his arms flapping. In the next, without acknowledging the sharp throb of bruises and cuts, he's launched himself into motion. A ballet dancer's comparison isn't entirely inaccurate, in the way he propels his body into a mix between a backward salto and a three-row aerial cartwheel -- and ends up landing neatly on the closed lid of a Dumpster, his feet pointed like he's completed a pirouette. ]

[ But despite the graceful move, there's nothing showy about it. Just unnervingly precise. In this weary state, he's conserving what little energy he has. ]

Knock it off, Korra. [ Cold and cautionary. He doesn't want to fight her. But he will if he has to. ]

How do you know me?

[Unphased, she summons a column of stone from the wall behind Hei, to knock him off the dumpster. Assuming it works, she'll hit him with another rock. His injuries don't matter to her right now. She's rarely gentle even under the best of circumstances, and his mask cuts her off from anything that might tug at her compassion.]

[ The unexpected column throws him off. But it's literal, not metaphorical. He's tested the waters enough. Earth, air, water, fire -- she wields all four elements with ease, and isn't afraid to show all her cards. It's time for him to readjust his own stance and strategy, and start playing for keeps. ]

[ Avatar or not; injured or not -- this is pissing him off. ]

[ He drops from the Dumpster, but in the same movement, he's uncovered his blades and cables with a magician's sleight of hand. Whipping one wire at the nearby rooftop, he whizzes into the air. But he has to compensate at the same time for the rock she tosses at him. It doesn't hit him full-on; he torques his body at the right moment. But he takes a hit to the left ribcage. Hei lets out a choked grunt as the wind is slammed out of his lungs, but he's already swooping high to escape any follow-through, landing on a signboard to give himself a second to suck in another breath. ]

[ Except he doesn't stay there long. Now you see him, now you don't -- by the next eyeblink he's shot a second wire, sailing down through the air toward Korra, knife at hand. He makes a swipe at her torso with the edge, and in the same movement he kicks out at her kneecap, a blow that could dislocate it if it connects. ]

[ He's no longer in the mood to play. ]

[Korra's not playing either. And she has an advantage in not being tired and injured. She blocks the knife, hooks her leg around the one kicking at her, intending to flip him. She's perfectly comfortable kicking of kicking ass without bending (as long as she knows her bending is still there).

Her eyes glow as she taps into her past lives. Not just to increase her bending power, but to up her speed and strength.

She is not the Avatar he's fought before.]

[ The earlier battle has made a mess of Hei's hair, wet and clinging to the sides of his mask with blood and sweat. His tac-suit is insulated, trapping sweat and overheating skin that is already fizzling on adrenaline. He still has reserves of strength on his side. But unless he debilitates her fast, that won't be enough. The crash is inevitable and it promises to be ugly. ]

[ She deflects both his blows, but it doesn't slow him. Instead of flipping, he pivots his body to land squarely on his feet, at an angle from her, his stance wide and low. When her eyes glow, there's a flare of deja vu. It reminds him of Pai so strongly, he has to pointedly shove the memory down before he can function. ]

[ He moves, circling her, backward, then forward, watching her and keeping the knife offhand, closest to Korra. In the field of hand-to-hand combat, he's trained alongside war veterans and superhumans. He's pushed himself to stay two steps ahead of each opponent, star-spread and razor-sharp, because anything else is unacceptable. The danger of an air-attack or fireblast is on the forefront of his mind. But a face-off where he's outmatched in terms of special powers is nothing new. ]

[ He darts forward then, lightning-fast and without warning, a zigzag route -- using the dagger as a ploy to block, stab, swipe. At the same time, he swings his free arm upward, knuckles aiming to connect under Korra's armpit. It's a key pressure point of the body; hit it just right, and it unleashes all kinds of shit -- lost breath, nausea, paralysis, the works. ]

[Korra's learned the hard way to be mindful of pressure points. Pressure points very close to where Hei is aiming are how the chi blockers took her bending (temporarily). That is something she finds far more threatening than the knife in his hands.

She can't block both at once, so she focuses on blocking the arm heading for her pressure point, ignoring the pain as his knife meets skin. In the next breath, she's grabbing for the wrist holding the knife. She heats up her hand, hot enough to burn, hopefully hot enough to get him to drop the knife.]

[ Hei notices the way she angles her body as if wary he'll hit her vital points, whereas most would focus solely on the threat of the knife. He tucks that detail away -- he's been taught to divide the human body into a network of vulnerable nerves: high, middle, and low. If he can exploit that possible weakness later, all the better. ]

[ His weapon cuts into her arm, but she evades the uppercut to her armpit at the same moment. Before he can regroup, she's snatched the wrist of his blade-arm. Her palm heats up, and the touch is searing. Hei doesn't cry out, but the breath he sucks in, sharp and sibilant, is a near thing. Shitshitshitshit. He smells burnt fabric and what has to be scorched flesh. The knife clatters away, but not before he's riposted with a dazzling crackle of electricity where her fingers are wrapped around him. ]

[ Ignoring the constellation of aches all over, trying to throw her off, he puts his body into a spin, the heel of his left foot an axis. At the same time, doubling the force of his attack, he swings his free palm in a knifehand strike toward the radial nerve of her free forearm, following his right leg up with an approximation of a hook kick to the nerve passing outside her thigh. ]

Argh! [She quickly lets go of him, her hand throbbing in pain from the electric shock. She needs to pin him down, but to do that she needs to put some distance between them. She drops to the ground and rolls away. As she comes back up, she summons slabs of earth to trap him.]

[ Distance isn't what Hei wants. All his best attacks -- from the mildest to the most lethal -- are delivered at close range. When Korra breaks free, he rolls to one side, his stance drawn tight an inward in an automatic resistance to pain blossoming through his body. Not the worst he's suffered, not by a long shot. But certainly enough to slow him by a millisecond. ]

[ But before he can cut the gap between them with a snagged cable or an old-fashioned crashtackle, the earth shoots up in a craggy cage, trapping him in. What the hell -- ? Red-stained sweat on Hei's brow and neck makes strands of black hair cling to his mask. But aside from the carefully-controlled, staccato rise and fall of his chest, he is perfectly still. ]

[ One quick sweep reveals the stones are too dense to kick through. Better to conserve his energy. Bide his time until she's closer. ]

[Korra lets go of the Avatar state and the glow in her eyes fades. She pushes herself to her feet and very, very carefully approaches him.]

You should have just answered my question.

[The sight of his mask, even with him trapped, makes her stomach roll. With a deep breath, she takes it off.]

[ Hei offers no reaction when she approaches, nor when she reaches for his mask. With his arms pinned down and his legs mostly immobile, a bug caught in resin, he can't physically resist. As her fingertips ghost near the skin of his face, it'd be easy to knock her out with a heart-juddering jolt of electricity. ]

[ Instead he lets her take his mask off. The prior fight has opened a seeping red cut across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. The orbit of his right eye is purpled and puffy. But his expression is coolly neutral, the determination to look her straight in the eyes unwavering despite his tactical disadvantage. He's been in this position before, but not often. Usually it's at the hands of fellow professionals on the same tier as he is. (He'd say it's humiliating, getting nailed by an amateur. A teenaged bratgirl. Except he secretly loved every minute of it. No bullshit, just a real balls-out fight.) ]

But that wouldn't get you off as much as this did.

[ The words are cutting. But a crowded cafe and a cup of cappuccino and his tone could almost be called casual. Instead, he's dressed in blood and bruises. (But when is that ever the opposite of casual in his world?) ]

[Korra makes a face at him -- You're disgusting (but not wrong. Even with the pain of her own cuts and bruises, her muscles burn pleasantly, and she feels calmer than she has all weekend).

But she frowns when she gets a good look at his face. The blood dripping from his nose reminds her of the arm injury she had ignored earlier. Now that his mask is off and he's safely immobilized, she feels just the slightest twinge of guilt at having added to his injuries.]

How do you know me?

[As she repeats the question, she bends the water out of a nearby puddle. She spends a few moments filtering out the dirt and filth, getting it as pure as she can before bringing the water up to his face. He'll feel a cool, soothing touch and a strange tingle of energy as first she heals the cut on his face and then reduces the bruising around his eye.]

[ He is sullenly silent, no surprise, the slashes and bruising making a secondary mask across his features. Part of him instinctively slips into red-alert, eyes cutting to the water she bends -- scenarios of a liquid sphere wrapped around his head, drowning him from skull-up, flash through his mind. A Contractor would do it. But not Korra. She's a bully, but not a killer. ]

[ His eyes flutter shut; he endures the healing. The energy reminds him of a mint balm, how it tingles as it seeps into his flesh. He doesn't thank her; half the injuries are her fault to begin with. Instead, pragmatic as ever, he accepts the free patch-up. His heart is no longer walloping in his chest, the adrenaline slowly fizzling out of his system. But now spots burst in his line of sight. ]

[ He shakes them off, ignoring the leaden ache in his muscles and the encroaching wooziness. His eyes stay fixed on her, sharp and predatory although she's the one pinning him in place. ]

We have a history of running into each other this way.

[ Although it's the first time it's ended with him at her mercy. Damn, time and emotions are funny things. Funny like syphilis. ]

[Korra doesn't like the sound of that. And she's not too thrilled with the idea of letting him out, though she can't deal with the worst of his injuries with the stone slabs between them.

One last answer first, and then she'll risk letting him out to finish healing.]

Who are you?

[ Who are you? That's the question du jour in the life and times of BK201, isn't it? A million sharp rejoinders and easy deflections bloom and die on the tip of his tongue. Quickly, the pink pad of his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He tastes old rust, like the stench of death and decay in the air has settled in a layer over his skin. (Still, he can half-detect Korra's scent beneath that bilge. He wants to breathe it in. Even if he'll never have more of her than this, there's a part of him that thinks it could almost be enough. ) ]

You call me 'Li'.

[ Simple and concise. Let her think his fortitude has crumbled. Let her think he's ready to play the passive prisoner. At some point, she'll have to let him loose. When she does, he'll make good on his escape. Every word and gesture is funneling into an exit strategy at this point. ]

Was that really so hard?

[Weird, aggravating man. She's tempted to keep him trapped, try to get some more answers out of him. But she's not that great a healer, and he had some pretty bad injuries. If she lets them get any worse, they'll be beyond her power to deal with.]

I'm dropping the walls so I can fix your wrist and arm. Don't try to go anywhere.

I told you. It will make sense tomorrow.

[ The idea of her prying answers from him is laughable. Interrogation (with or without torture) is a game every Syndicate operative is well-versed with playing. When she speaks again, he turns his head to one side and spits out the dregs of blood that've welled up in his mouth (well away from her, thanks). His face is hard to read, but there's an uptilt in the corners of his mouth, like seeing a kitten growl like a tiger. Don't try to go anywhere. He wonders if she could try to stop him. ]

All right.

[ He lies with the ease of telling the truth. He'll accept the healing in good part. (What smart man wouldn't?) Once that ends, so will their little run-in. ]

[Korra's more worried about him making a run for it before she gets a chance to heal him. She starts with the burn on his wrist, her conscience twinging (she hadn't meant to burn him that bad -- she'd just wanted him to drop the knife).]

How can you be so sure of that?

[ The burn is uglier than he wrote it off as being. Ranging in the second-degree, the darkish marks from her grip branded on the skin of his wrist. He feels the flesh prickle in wake of the water, imagines a blue phospherescence trailing over his wound. This ability to heal as well as damage is useful. (Privately, he wonders how badly she'll sulk once midnight strikes and her bending is ...not stolen, but sealed off again.) ]

[ While she heals him, he keeps his expression neutral, his gaze on the burn. But she may notice him casting little glances down at her with every few seconds, absorbing every visual detail of her face. He doesn't try to hide it. He wants to look at her as a stranger would, but he can't separate what he knows of her from the blank slate evoked by the curse. ]

[ The two of them remind him of children. Caught in a riptide of pettiness and push-me-pull-you. ]

Because I know it for a fact.

How?!

[She doesn't understand how everyone can be so sure. This entire place is incomprehensible to her.

She gets the burn down to only a slightly grumpy red, not wanting to use all her energy on one injury when she had at least a few more to do. Hope you don't like that shirt much, Hei, because she's ripping the sleeve so she can get access to the gash on his arm.

Her attention is focused on healing, but she doesn't miss the glances he's stealing. Why is he looking at her like that? According to him, they knew each other because they fought. That's not how you look at an enemy. Either he's some kind of sick weirdo, or there's something he's not telling her.]

I'm the Avatar, and you gotta deal with it!

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